The Children

What’s on your mind, JoAnn? This question, a familiar one to those of us who visit Facebook from time to time, had one nagging answer this past week. Children are on my mind. 

As you might guess, the children most on my mind are the lovely Madelyn Simone and the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday. The images of my two granddaughters are vivid. Twirling around in their frou-frou dresses at the Dragonfly Tea Room in Canal Fulton. Going down the slide, “just one more time, Nana.” Singing along with Sharon, Lois and Bram, “I love you in the morning, and in the afternoon, I love you in the evening and underneath the moon.” Oh yes, I do.

In contrast to these heart-warming images, I also encountered a painful scene when picking up an order at a local restaurant. As I entered, I sensed an air of tension, and soon realized the young mother behind the counter was screaming at her three small children, who were cowering at a crayon-strewn table in the corner. I did not witness any physical abuse, but if she didn’t have self-control in that very public situation, what might be happening to those little ones in the privacy of their home? I exchanged raised eyebrows with other patrons, but I did nothing. But my heart and mind remembered Ashley Zhao, age five, whose battered body was found hidden in her family’s restaurant not far from the home of my granddaughters a year ago. 

I watched a video of Chase and Riley this week, two young sisters who spoke of the joy their brother Liam has brought into their lives, even though he was born with an extra twenty-first chromosome, diagnosed with trisomy 21. Riley expressively informed the world: “It [Downs Syndrome] is not our baby brother’s name – his name is Liam . . . We don’t care about Downs Syndrome – we care about Liam.”

Children played a role in my pleasure-reading this week as well when I happily discovered another Maisie Dobbs mystery on the library shelves. In “A Lesson in Secrets,” author Jacqueline Winspear invented a children’s book, “The Peaceful Little Warriors,” to play a role in the investigation of its author’s murder. The storybook tells of British children orphaned by World War I, who subsequently live together in the woods. These children make their way to France with the goal of convincing soldiers from all sides to lay down their arms and seek after peace. In Winspear’s narrative, the book is labeled dangerous, even treasonous, and is banned by the government. 

Just a week ago, children and adults walked with a similar purpose at March for Our Lives gatherings around the world. In Washington, Naomi Wadler, age eleven, addressed critics who suggested she was too young to understand: “My friends and I might still be eleven and may still be in elementary school, but we know.”

Images from the march in Ashland are still on my mind as well. A column of people stretching down Claremont Avenue. Fourteen-year-old twins bearing witness as they carried the names of Jamie and Martin, also fourteen years old when their lives were snuffed out while at school in Parkland, Florida. Lydia, age eleven, standing in Corner Park, reading the names of the small children killed at Sandy Hook.  Charlotte, Daniel, Olivia, Chase, Madeleine . . .

As a mother, as a grandmother, I listened to Sarah Wells’ lament to Parkland, “When Your Daughter is Shot on Valentine’s Day.” “Who will choose the coffin dress/ who will carry dried petals in their pockets/ who will hold on, and hold on, and hold on until all that’s left is faded paper hearts and dust.”

As a retired pastor, the temptation to form a sermon-like conclusion from these disjointed images is strong, but on this holy Saturday of watching and waiting, I offer words from the sacred text instead. First, words of Jesus from Matthew 19:14. “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them. For the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” 

And then, from Isaiah 11:6: “And a little child shall lead them.”